


Knocked Up

by epkitty



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Mpreg, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-02
Updated: 2011-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-16 01:18:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epkitty/pseuds/epkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We are not perfect creatures.  I think the gods must agree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knocked Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Erviniae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erviniae/gifts), [aglarien1](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=aglarien1).



We are not perfect creatures. I think the gods must agree.

= = = = =

“Sometimes the males in your family . . . and you were going to tell me WHEN?!”

This was going very poorly. As Erestor had known it would. “Glorfindel . . .”

But it was no use. The warrior was gone. And Erestor was left only with the lingering scent of tangerines.

He sat on the rumpled bedside, his hand straying to his belly. There was no outward sign of the change. Not yet. It seemed unbelievable. How could no one see it?

Life was essence, not object.

He dashed away the tears. He stood and straightened the bed.

It took him the rest of the day to build up the courage to even approach Elrond.

= = = = =

The day was dimming, the light graying to something mysterious and ominous, as was so common in the winter nights. Upon the arrival of his guest, Elrond had built up the fire and brought an afghan from the bedroom to cover Erestor’s lap.

The confession was done and both dark, pale Elves sat swamped in their own thoughts, embracing the heat from the blaze in the hearth. The time for conversation would come, once thoughts had assembled themselves in their proper order.

Until then, Elrond sat, his frowning brow and down-turned mouth set in stone.

Erestor watched the unhappy shadows in Elrond’s dark-flickering eyes, the crevice of his frown, the hard slump of his troubled shoulders.

The few tears Erestor had shed had been fastidiously wiped away, and the slight wetness on his sleeve pressed against the inside of his wrist.

The silence stretched taut between them like a wire. It snapped when Elrond shifted back into his seat and said with calm authority, “Well.”

Erestor blinked, long lashes a butterfly flutter, and he looked to Elrond with uncertain hope. “Yes.”

“You’re in the shit this time,” Elrond told him.

“Yes.” Erestor was, at this point, beyond denial.

Elrond was fighting, desperately, past his own astonishment, digging for the words that would offer Erestor the support he so desperately needed. All of the questions had to be pushed aside. “This is . . . I can’t even say I’m on your side, Erestor, but I remain your friend and will do what I can to help you in this . . . situation.”

Erestor’s response was stunted and guttural. “Thank you.”

“You’re the advisor,” Elrond said. “I’m just a Lord, and less than half your age. All I can say is . . . give him time.” Before Erestor could break in, Elrond continued, “I know it’s not what you want to hear; it’s not quite helpful or kind. But it’s true. Glorfindel loves you, but some secrets are too great to be hidden this way.”

Erestor could nearly hear the question that Elrond did not voice.

Instead, Elrond said, “If you need a place to sleep, my bed is always open to you. I know you wouldn’t want to be alone.”

“Thank you.” So quiet. So unlike Erestor. “I will see what happens tonight.” Simple words choked in his throat.

= = = = =

Glorfindel stood on the balcony. Children fooled about in the twilit gardens below. Their pattering feet and playful cries shook the air. His crystalline eyes bore down into them. At first, they did not see him. His generous lips were hardened into a grimace of uncertain pain. His entire body was tightened with fear, anger, and disappointment.

“Glorfindel! There’s Glorfindel!”

The group of children ceased their game. Two had jumped up onto a stone bench. All were expending great energy to wave up at the balcony and call his name.

Glorfindel stood up straight and waved back to them. He tried to smile. He couldn’t find the voice with which to bid them good night even as their nurses and parents called them in for dinner. He retreated back into the silent, cloth-folded shroud of the room. Curtains on the windows. Curtains on the bed. Curtains in the doorways, cloth screens to change behind, and tapestries on the walls. He’d never realized how much fabric made up this room, this room that was his long before Erestor invaded it. Before ‘mine’ became ‘ours.’ Before ‘he’ became ‘mine.’ Erestor.

Looking at the bed was a mistake. The sheets were pulled up, the bed made, just the way Erestor must have fixed it after Glorfindel had stormed out. ‘Fertile,’ he had explained. ‘Should have,’ he had said. ‘Mistake,’ he had pleaded.

Oh so tired from the strains of the day, Glorfindel longed to bury himself beneath the blankets, cocoon himself there. But he knew that Erestor’s scent would linger.

And where was Erestor? He’d been gone nearly the whole day. Glorfindel had not seen him and did not know where he was, and he was trying so very hard not to worry.

= = = = =

Having refused Elrond’s bed, Erestor had curled up as small as possible on the chaise longue before the hearth. After building up the fire for the last time, Elrond had covered Erestor with a generous pile of quilts and retreated to his bed in the next room. He left the door open, just in case.

Though still awake, Erestor did not stir at the unassuming knock on the exterior door. Instead, Elrond rolled out of bed, his feet hitting the cold floor. The Lord ghosted into the main room, fearful of waking his guest, unknowing that Erestor feigned sleep. He opened the door and could not decide whether to be surprised or not that Glorfindel stood on the other side of it. “Glorfindel.”

“My Lord, do you know where Erestor is?”

Elrond was in the midst of debating with himself whether or not he should lie when Erestor saved him the trouble of deciding. The Half-Elf stood still, slightly slack jawed, examining Glorfindel, when the Counselor’s voice rung out, “I am here Glorfindel.”

Both relieved for himself and concerned for his friends, Elrond tiptoed back and opened wide the door.

No more invitation was needed; Glorfindel stepped inside. Blind to all else, Glorfindel’s brilliant blue eyes swept to Erestor, where he stood before the chaise longue, quilt clasped in bone-white hands. It seemed the Golden Elf needed to ascertain that Erestor was indeed present and unharmed, for he only stared before glancing awkwardly at Elrond and saying, “Erestor. I can’t sleep, if you’re not there next to me.”

The quilt fell to the floor. Erestor gasped. Elrond tried to make himself invisible.

“Will you come back to . . . our quarters with me?”

The words were sincere, but Glorfindel was not happy. He looked torn between a question of right and wrong, wanting one but needing the other. Fists were clenched at his sides. He was breathing more deeply than normal. His eyes darted about the place as a nervous animal’s, only to return to Erestor.

Erestor crouched to pick up the quilt he had dropped. He carefully folded it and set it aside. He said nothing, but crossed the room on silent cat feet and joined Glorfindel at the door.

Elrond watched them leave together, side by side down the hall. They did not hold hands, nor look to one another. Elrond watched until he could see them no more, and still he watched the shadows long after the two were gone.

= = = = =

The walk through the darkened corridors was awkward and heavy with silence, but there was a certain comfort in the shadows. Neither felt a need to speak, nor to do much of anything but walk, matching their strides as they had learned to do centuries before.

Glorfindel, ever the gentleman, opened the door of their chambers, so that Erestor might precede him. The dark Elf closed his eyes and crossed the threshold, terribly nervous about the conversation to come.

Earlier, Glorfindel had exploded and stormed out. That was common enough. He would rage and stalk about, and then rationality would set in.

But as was so rare, Erestor was more frightened of the latter than the former. He had expected the temper. But he didn’t know what to expect from Glorfindel now.

Erestor stood in the center of the room, beneath the chandelier they never used, while Glorfindel busied himself with adding fuel to the fire he had banked before seeking Erestor.

Erestor watched the flames leaping and jumping toward the flue. The firelight cast a bronze tone over Glorfindel’s already tan skin, making him appear as an ancient statue in Erestor’s eyes. The golden hair fell forward, and Erestor thrilled with the familiar fear that it would get caught in the flames, though it never had. Glorfindel stood and surveyed his work. Satisfied that the fire was confined in the grate, he turned to face Erestor, so still and seemingly solitary in the center of the room.

Glorfindel didn’t have to say anything, didn’t have to ask the questions.

Erestor spoke.

“I’m so sorry, Glorfindel. I was wrong; it was so wrong of me to ever let this situation happen in the first place. And if you want brutal honesty, Glorfindel, this is it. I always wanted children. I thought I would find someone else who would too. Then I met you. I don’t have to recite for you our history, all the memories that we share. I don’t have to say it again, but I will. I love you. And I never broached the subject, because you obviously have no love of children.

“I have dug myself into the deepest hole of my life here, Glorfindel. And as many times as I’ve wanted to turn the clock back and get another chance, this is the worst. I’m sorry.”

The sound of the fire eating the logs, licking away at the air, was suddenly loud in the absence of speech that followed Erestor’s declaration.

Glorfindel nodded. “It’s true I never wanted children. It’s true that I thought I was ‘safe’ from that possibility with you. But Erestor, I love you. No secret, no mistake, is going to change that.” He turned his back to the fire, came close to embrace Erestor, though it was an awkward gesture. “I do love you. I still love you. Whatever reassurances you think you need, I will give. And I am sorry for roaring at you this morning.”

Smelling tangerines, Erestor ducked his head in under Glorfindel’s chin and clung to him. “How are we going to manage this? How will any child of ours ever be happy?”

“So many doubts,” Glorfindel sighed, holding Erestor tighter. “You’ll make a great mother!”

Bone-white fingers found their way to Glorfindel’s sides, tickling.

Glorfindel squirmed. An affectionate whisper told Erestor, “Stop that.”

Erestor snaked his thin arms about Glorfindel’s back to return the hug. “I love you so much.”

A strong, tan hand cupped Erestor’s head. “Don’t worry so, my little bird, my little bird who never sings, and keeps his secrets so well. We’ll work it out in the end. That’s how we spend our lives, isn’t it? Fixing people’s problems. Now, we’ll fix up our own lives instead.”

“But Glorfindel, a baby? You . . .”

“I will love any child that is mine, even more so, I think, any child that is yours.”

Erestor clutched him tightly. “I’m frightened.”

“Come,” Glorfindel turned him toward the bed. “Let us sleep. Rest in my arms, Erestor. I won’t let you be afraid there.”

“And you?” asked Erestor. “What can I do for you?”

Glorfindel kissed his forehead. “Keep no more secrets. And let me hold you.”

They undressed quickly and crept beneath the covers, where Glorfindel didn’t have to imagine Erestor next to him, or smell him on the sheets. Glorfindel held Erestor close, and the wily Elf began nibbling on Glorfindel’s neck. Erestor’s hot breath rolled across wet flesh. “I never thought you would forgive me so easily.”

“We’ll talk more about it later,” Glorfindel promised, succumbing too quickly to Erestor’s seduction.

“Love me?” Erestor begged.

“Always.”

“Show me.”

= = = = =

Where do you draw the line between male and female? Is there a line? Or is it as simple as parts? Or is it thoughts? Is there a mentality that is learned from our culture? Is there an instinct born into us? Is it as simple as claiming one or the other, or are there an unlimited number of in-betweens?

Even more important, maybe:

Does it matter?

= = = = =

The End

**Author's Note:**

> So. I swore I would NEVER write mpreg. And then this happened.


End file.
